


The Press of their Lips

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q/Johnlock, AO3 Fundraiser Auction, AU- alternative employment, Bondlock, Fluff, M/M, Smut, curtain!fic, flatmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Alternate Universe where Q, Bond, Sherlock, and John have rather average jobs and live as flatmates at 221b Baker Street. </p><p>This fic was written for the Ao3 Auction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Press of their Lips

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has not been Beta'd, although I promise I went over it multiple times in an attempt to edit it. 
> 
> For Micro-Excited-Geeky-Girl, who gave me this darling prompt and made a very generous donation to the Ao3 Auction!

“No Bond this evening?” Sherlock asked, curling up on the floral print couch next to Q. He rested a cup of tea on his knee, and pulled a newspaper off of the side table to begin flipping through it. 

“He’s moonlighting as a bodyguard.” Q replied, his tone bored. He was reading a novel with ink-stained fingers. “He’ll be back late. Not that it’s any of your business, mind. You don’t see me starting up an inquest over John.” 

A smirk played at the corner of Sherlock’s lips briefly before he turned his head away from the young man on the other side of the couch. 

“Well you’ll be happy to know that John is perfectly safe and on his way home from the office- there were some complications with the SEC+ class that he’s been teaching, and a student from the MCSE course scheduled a meeting. We’re going out, once he makes his way back.” 

“I’m being left all alone for the night? Pity.” Q said, unfolding himself from the couch and making his way over to the fridge. After a moment’s pause, he decided on a beer and used the back of the lighter in his pocket to uncap the bottle.

“Well if James gets his sorry arse home in time, come and join us.” Sherlock said, setting his tea aside so that he could more effectively glance through the evening paper. “We’re going to that new place a few blocks down- Bach’s.”

Q nodded and wandered through the main room and into his own bedroom, which he shared with James. It was cluttered- his cardigans and other clothes ruined by ink stains draped over every imaginable surface and bit of floor. He sat down at his illustration table and began took up a sketch that he had been working on before he had heard Sherlock make his way up the stairs to the flat. 

He heard John come in, setting down his keys and moving over to the couch. Q didn’t have to get up from his drawing to know that Sherlock would now be sprawled under the computer tech, hands roaming over linen and skin while they kissed lazily. It was a lucky thing that no one in the house was single, or the potential rivalry would have been devastating. As it was, Q merely pulled his mp3 player from a drawer and fastened it into his ears, listening to music while he worked. 

\---

James Bond approached the 221 building on Baker street and let himself in, jogging up the stairs and into the mostly dark flat. The only lights came from the bedroom that he shared with Q (nicknamed for some awful family-given name that he still refused to share with Bond). Carefully he pushed the door open, the suit jacket from his formal evening at the Opera cast over one arm. He was not surprised to see Q slumped on his desk, earbuds fastened into his ears and pen in hand. 

Quietly, Bond made his way over to the desk and made sure to remove the pen and set it aside, nib pointed upwards, before running his hands over the younger man’s shoulders. Q stirred, and looked up blearily, pulling the electronics from his ears as he sat upright. 

“I fell asleep.” He said, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them wide as if to force wakefulness back into them. “What time is it?”

“Only a bit past eleven.” Bond replied, stooping low to place a kiss on Q’s prominent jawline. 

“I thought the Minister of Finance was going to be keeping you out late.” Q murmured, shifting into the kiss. 

“His wife found dinner disagreeable. They went home early.” Bond said softly. He slowly moved to Q’s lips, sucking the lower to run it between his teeth. A hand wrapped around the back of his neck, and Q pulled him in deeply- running his tongue against the front of Bond’s teeth. 

“How fortuitous.” Q smiled. 

“Where are Sherlock and John?” Bond asked, grasping Q close. 

“They’re over at that new club.” Q murmured in between deep kisses. He stood, and James slowly maneuvered him over towards their bed. 

“Sounds lovely.” Bond said with a smile, working at the fastenings on Q’s jeans. 

“Sherlock wants us to meet them.” Q said, his voice hitching as his flies were opened and Bond’s fingers skirted over the hardened length of his cock.

“Maybe after.” Bond smirked. 

Q pressed his hips forward, relishing in the pressure of James’ fingers, before he reached out to pull him on top of his body so that their limbs could tangle together properly. After a flurry of fingers and teeth and tongue, both men were naked and moving together- Bond pressing into Q as the dark haired man writhed beneath him. 

“Christ, James.” Q sighed, wrapping his legs around Bond’s hips. When he came, his heels dug tight into Bond’s lower back, drawing the man deeper inside of him. 

\---

“Ah, there they are.” Sherlock mouthed into John’ ear, gesturing to the door of the club. Q ducked his way through the crowd of dancers with James lingered a few steps behind, parting the dance floor with ease while he kept his eyes trained on Q. They moved until they were at the edge of the bar, where Sherlock and John were both perched. 

“We were just about to leave.” Sherlock said when Q was within shouting distance. “What in the bloody hell took you two so long?”

By the smug look on James’ face, Sherlock knew that he had little interest in the answer to the question. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that Q’s shirt was impossibly wrinkled and that the usual markings of ink were gone from his fingers- which meant that he had scrubbed at his hands recently. This, partnered with Bond’s freshly styled hair- a habit the man only engaged in post-shower- and the near giddy behavior of the both of them, he knew that they had been waylaid by the bedroom. 

“Sherlock, be nice.” John rolled his eyes, no doubt catching the intense gaze that Sherlock was bestowing upon their roommates. He quickly flagged down the bartender and placed an order. 

“I’m being perfectly amiable, John.” Sherlock said, accepting the glass of amber liquid that was slid into his hand by John. He took a long sip, never taking his eyes from the men in front of him, who had each accepted a beer from John and were looking as if they might slink onto the dance floor at any moment.  
\--

Once he had adjusted to the music, it was easy enough for Q to match James’ movements on the dance floor. The lights flickered in a number of colors over them as they swayed and moved to the heavy beat. For the longest time, Q had despised dancing- too much concern over what his limbs should be doing, how widely his hips should be moving, and who would be watching him. 

But standing with one arm draped over Bond’s shoulder, their bodies pressed close and the checkered darkness pulling them into their own little world, Q could honestly say that for the first time he couldn’t have cared who was watching him. He was perfectly happy to be precisely where he was. 

\--

“Really, those two of you are perfectly nauseating company.” Sherlock said, taking a long pull from his glass.John looked up at him. He was about to comment further- specifically about the curl of Bond’s finger in Q’s hair, or the completely nonexistent space between their groins- John could see it in the set of Sherlock’s lips. Instead, he nudged the man, and tried to give him an admonishing look. It was exhausting sometimes, having to provide constant mental fodder for the man. How his coworkers at the museum put up with Sherlock, John had no idea. 

And so John was startled by a sudden pull on the belt loop of his trousers. 

“What-?” Sherlock was pulling him in close, tilting his head downwards to whisper into John’s ear. 

“Follow me.” He said, pulling John away from the bar and towards the back set of restrooms. After an over-the-shoulder glance at Q and Bond, who had glanced over when they began to move away. From them he received a pair of the most coy smiles that he had ever witnessed, John allowed himself to be pulled into the men’s room and into a bathroom stall, wherein Sherlock immediately sank to his knees in front of him. 

“Sherlock, get up- someone is going to come in he-” John’s protest died in his throat as his pants were unfastened and the hot, wet mouth of Sherlock Holmes wrapped around his hardening cock. 

He grasped at the long, dark hair at the back of Sherlock’s head and gripped it tightly, looking down at his boyfriend’s startlingly blue eyes and the tight draw of his lips around John’s cock . 

“Fucking hell, Sherlock.” John grunted, his grasp on Sherlock’s hair tightening as the other man began to suck and run his tongue along the underside of John’s shaft. The sight, the feeling, and the looming excitement of public exposure built a knot of pleasure at the base of John’s spine as Sherlock sucked deliberately at his tip. He came with a yell and a hard smack of his hand to the door of the stall, Sherlock sucking him down eagerly with one hand trailing upwards to rest on John’s lower back. 

\---

The next morning, a Saturday morning, Q woke up first. He had been jolted from sleep by Sherlock’s cell phone, which was going off in the next room. He laid in bed and listened as on the other side of the wall, there was a stirring and the sounds of stumbling bare feet. Someone crashed into the living room and silenced the ringer before padding back into the other bedroom, shutting the door. 

Q curled up onto his side, turning towards Bond who was sleeping almost perfectly straight on the bed. The moment that Q touched him, the slightly older man seemed to move unconsciously, sliding an arm to a more open position so that Q could settle against him. Underneath the feathery comforter, rays of sun slowly inching across the mattress. While he lay, Bond’s arms slowly closed around him, holding him close. Q decided that it was a damn near perfect morning. 

He tucked his head onto James’ chest and wrapped one arm so that it rested on the man’s opposite hip. Sometime that afternoon, Q would have to get up and finish an illustration, most likely around the same time that Bond would leave for the weekend self-defense class that he taught at the neighborhood gym. But for that moment, Q was content to settle back to sleep, wrapped in the arms of his boyfriend. 

\---

“It’s the museum.” John said, re-entering the bedroom with Sherlock’s phone in one hand. He crawled back into bed and returned his legs to the tangle that they had been in when he awoke- his ankles and knees wrapped around Sherlock’s, their hips pressed close together. 

“But it’s Saturday.” Sherlock moaned, his head still buried into a pillow. His hair stuck up brilliantly at all angles, giving him a halo of unruly curls. 

“It doesn’t seem like they care” John said, laying the phone on the pillow between them. Sherlock glanced at it with a cautious eye, and then scooped it up with one hand. Blearily, he stabbed at numbers until a voicemail began to play on speakerphone, revealing Sherlock’s research assistant Molly asking a series of nervous questions concerning the newly delivered mummified remains from the Ptolemy era. 

“Bloody ridiculous, it’s like she’s never worked with a dead body before.” Sherlock huffed, hanging up the phone. 

“So then go in and help her.” John said. 

“It’s not like it’s a particularly _important_ mummy.” Sherlock mumbled. “All she has to do is tuck it away and not touch it. It isn’t really that difficult at all.” 

“She’s new.” 

“She’s an idiot. They’re not supposed to disturb me on a Saturday.” Sherlock said, untangling his leg and rolling onto his side. He was met halfway by John, whose fingers were trailing over his bare chest and downwards towards his pyjama bottoms. 

“I can think of better things for us to do.” John admitted with a shy smile. 

“Do tell.” Sherlock laughed, pausing only when his phone began to ring once again. 

Quickly he silenced the ringer, allowed the call to go to voicemail, and then turned the phone off before tossing it towards the bottom of the bed. 

“Now then, where were we?” He asked, bending his neck to kiss John full on the mouth.


End file.
